


Injury

by ThorinOakenfeels (inkgeek)



Series: Nwalin Week 2016 [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Injury Recovery, M/M, Muteness, Nwalin Week, Nwalin Week 2016, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6987256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkgeek/pseuds/ThorinOakenfeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A spirit doesn't mend as easily as a battle wound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Injury

**Author's Note:**

> Nwalin Week 2016 Day 5: Injury or Comfort

It’s dark.

At least it’s warm. The battlefield had been cold and wet and miserable and Dwalin cannot remember when it had gotten dark.

Why is it dark now?

He tries to sit up, but the world starts to spin. Abort mission.

Mahal below, his throat hurts.

Why is it dark? He reaches out, fingers desperately searching for something. Anything. Rough blanket. Thin mattress. Cold stone. Soft hair. Nori.

He finds Nori’s shoulder and tries to say his name but it's dark and his throat hurts. Nori startles under his touch.

“Dwalin!” he says. Suddenly his face appears out of the darkness, exhaustion is written in every line. The dark circles under his eyes make him look almost skeletal in the dim light. His hair and beard are in simple, out-of-the-way plaits. A long cut on his cheek has been neatly stitched closed. Dwalin reaches up to touch it, but Nori grabs his wrist. “Dwalin, you need to lie still. Don't try to talk. I'm going to get Óin.” And then Nori is gone. The warmth of his grip lingers on Dwalin’s skin for a moment. Why does his throat hurt?

“Decided not to return to the stone after all, laddie?” says Óin as he comes into view with a lantern, “Gave us all a right scare, you did.”

Dwalin inhales to speak, to ask what happened, but Nori shushes him before he can even try. He tries Iglishmek instead. He's not great at it. It's mostly just tactical signs he knows.  _ My throat hurt why? What happen? _

“Ye were trying to get to Thorin. An orc tried to rip yer throat out… with its teeth.” Óin explains, “I thought it had succeeded when they dragged ye in. Ye lost a lot of blood. Wasn't sure ye’d make it for awhile there.”

_ Sleep how long? _ Dwalin signs clumsily.

“Two days,” says Óin, “And Nori's been here the whole time. Had the threaten him with grievous bodily harm before he'd let me sew up his face.”

“Balin was here as often as he could be, but with Thorin and the princes dead...” Nori trails off.

Thorin. That's right. Thorin is dead. His best friend; his king. Dead. And Thorin’s sister-sons. Two bright, young lives cut short by the cruel blade of fate. Mahal have mercy on them all.

It's too much. Too much death. Too much to deal with. Dwalin changes the subject.  _ I talk when? Soon, please. _ He doesn't miss the look that passes between Nori and Óin. Nori takes his hand. 

“I don't know. I'm sorry,” says Óin. He sounds genuine. “We're going to do everything we can, but there is a very real possibility that ye may lose yer voice permanently.”

_ No. I talk when? _ Dwalin signs again, wrenching his hand from Nori's gentle grasp.  _ When? When? When?  _ He cannot lose his voice. He cannot. Nori takes hold of his wrists.

“Nothing is certain, Dwalin,” he says, calm and authoritative. It doesn't help. Dwalin can feel heat prickling up his cheeks; tears beginning in his eyes. This is too much all at once. Thorin is dead. Fíli and Kíli are dead. His voice is gone. His throat hurts.

  
  


After being confined to his bed for the better part of a week, Óin releases Dwalin from the infirmary. He gives strict orders that Dwalin is not to talk under any circumstances for at least another week. Dwalin is not happy about that. At least he doesn't have to sit around being useless. There is work to be done. There's rubble to clear, wounded to tend, bodies to identify. It's not easy but it's better than lying in bed dwelling on his mistakes.

Bifur seems mysteriously drawn to him now. Perhaps he sees Dwalin as a kindred spirit; a brother in silence. At least they can understand each other for the most part. They work together on this task or that. Dwalin’s Iglishmek improves, but not his mood. Sometimes he wanders down to the tombs and just sits there until Nori comes to fetch him.

Despite Óin’s best efforts, Dwalin’s voice is lost. He cannot make sound. It frustrates him to no end.

“There's a chance it may come back if you keep working at it,” says Óin, “Just don't push yourself too hard.” Telling Dwalin not to push himself too hard is like telling the sun not to rise. Lack of improvement does nothing for his dark mood.

The final straw comes when Dáin asks him to be Captain of the Royal Guard. It's regarded as a political move by many of the Iron Hills dwarves on Dáin’s council: appoint a dwarf from Ered Luin to gain the loyalty of those moving back to the mountain from the West. As if Dáin hadn’t fought side by side and back to back with Dwalin at Azanulbizar. As if Dwalin hadn't personally taken the head of the orc that had ruined Dáin’s leg. As if they don't trust each other more than most kings and their guards.

Dwalin declines.  
  


He comes home in a rage. "Home” had once been a bookshop. Nori set up the small front area as their living quarters. Crumbled manuscripts have been moved out of the way and in one corner is a large pallet that serves as their bed. There is no kitchen, no functional plumbing, but it has four walls and a roof. Better than life on the road. 

Dwalin slams the door hard enough to make dust fall from the long-empty shelves.

“Mahal below!” says Nori, startled from a light doze on the pallet. Dwalin picks up a cracked, unusable lamp and throws it against the wall. It shatters. Two chairs and a small bookcase follow. Before Dwalin can destroy their only functional table, Nori grabs his arm.

_ Off!  _ Dwalin signs. He shrugs Nori off, but Nori grabs him again.

“Quit wrecking the furniture, fuckwit!”

_ Off!  _ He pushes Nori harder than he means to and the smaller dwarf slams into one of the big bookcases. A few books tumble to the ground and turn to dust on impact. Nori is back on his feet in an instant, looking completely scandalized.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! It's me, you idiot!”

_ I hate this! _ Dwalin is shaking, but his hands are steady.  _ Can't work! Can't talk! Broken, broken, broken! Dáin wants me as Royal Guard Captain. Can’t! Too broken! _

“Of course you can work! You’ve  _ been _ working,” Nori counters, taking a cautious step forward, “And you’re not broken. Obviously Dáin trusts you.”

_ I am broken. My voice is broken. Can't be heard, can't protect! Me as a Royal Guard? Useless. I can’t protect my King! What good is a Royal Guard who can't protect his King? _ He turns away and signs something that Nori can’t see.

“What?”

“I should have died with Thorin!” Dwalin’s voice, husky and soft from disuse, shocks them both into silence.

Neither breathes for a moment. Tears fill Dwalin’s eyes. Nori steps forward and pulls him into a tight hug.

“Oh, Dwalin…” he says, his tone a mixture of pity and relief. They sink down to the dusty floor together. Gasping sobs wrack Dwalin’s huge body. Nori comforts him as best he can but this wound goes much deeper than anyone had thought. A spirit doesn't mend as easily as a battle wound.

They stay like that for the better part of an hour; Dwalin curled in Nori’s lap and Nori rocking him gently while rubbing his back. Eventually Dwalin cries himself out. His gut-wrenching sobs quieten to exhausted hiccups. His death grip on Nori eases.

_ Hurts.  _ Dwalin signs weakly.  _ Throat hurts _ .

“I'm not surprised. You gave it quite a workout just now,” Nori says softly, “C’mon, let's go see what Óin can do for you.”

 

Winter turns to Spring and Spring into Summer.  Progress is slow for both Dwalin and the mountain. New, pink skin grows over the orc bite. Houses are rebuilt and the Erebor refugees start to arrive. By the time the first anniversary of the Battle of the Five Armies rolls around, Dwalin is almost his old self again. He still gets quiet sometimes and still visits the tombs, but now he takes Nori with. Nori has held his hand every step of the way -- both literally and figuratively. After the memorial ceremony for the Battle, Dáin asks him again to be his guard. Dwalin accepts.


End file.
